


Sweet

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Sugar & Spice Witcher Bingo [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A surprising amount of horse content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Bad Puns, Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Bratty Jaskier | Dandelion, Breeding Kink, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Competition, Creampie, Crying During Sex, Deepthroating, Fan Bang, Flirty Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Jaskier and Geralt make a porno, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Lambert has the worst ideas, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Porn Video, Pre-Negotiated Kink, Renaissance Faire Nerd Jaskier, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sassy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Car, Short mention of spiders, So you just found out your dad is a porn star, Story within a Story, Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, Unrealistic depictions of sex work, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, roleplay (sort of), sibling shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Sugar and Spice Witcher BingoPrompt: rough
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Sugar & Spice Witcher Bingo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052879
Comments: 84
Kudos: 261





	1. Congratulations, You Won!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about how porn is actually made. I'm just making shit up to suit my needs here.
> 
> With many thanks to the Witcher Writer GC for the name of the production company, and to [Isa/Kaer Moron](https://twitter.com/IsaAfterDark?s=09) for supplying me with Jaskier's stage name. My husband later informed me that (of course) there was an actual porn star who used this name back in the '90s. It amuses me greatly that this fic is called Sweet for reasons that shall be revealed, and this dude's surname is Honey. Destiny, bitches!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture game!Geralt and show!Jaskier here btw.

"He's going to kill you, Lamb, and he'll make sure nobody ever finds your body. Hell, I might help him."

"Oh, come on, Eskel, the pretty boy needs to get his dick wet desperately, and he's been mooning over this kid for _ages_! Besides, what are the chances that he'll actually get picked?"

* * *

Geralt is going to kill Lambert. Slowly and painfully.

"You're not serious."

Lambert shrugs. "Actually, I am."

Geralt stares at the email again. Lambert forwarded it to him earlier and Geralt initially thought it was some weird phishing thing. Until Lambert asked him about it.

"I am _not_ going to do this."

"Aw, come on, man! They really want you there! That is not a copy and paste email, that is personal. And I know you have the hots for the kid."

Geralt is going to strangle him.

"I hate saying this but Lambert might be right. This could be good for you," Eskel says, looking at his phone. "The kid is cute, and what's the worst that could happen?"

"Are you seriously watching porn while we're all in the room? _Gross_." Lambert fake-shudders, and Eskel punches him on the bicep.

"No, I'm looking at pictures of him, dumbass."

Geralt is going to strangle _both of them_.

* * *

Against his better judgment, Geralt goes to the meeting "Ben's" production company set up, despite all his reservations and niggling belief that this is all some colossal practical joke.

That fear, at least, is dispelled when he walks into the rather nondescript office building and the girl at the front desk brightens with what he can only describe as anticipation.

"Hi! Welcome to Abso-Lute Filth, you must be Geralt? I'm Triss." She's tall and pretty, with luscious curly hair pulled up into a messy bun, and she's almost vibrating as she jumps to her feet. "Yennefer and Jaskier, I mean, _Ben_ are waiting for you, if you'd follow me."

Jaskier. So that's the boy's name. It's... pretty. Fits that pretty face. Geralt mentally shakes himself and follows Triss deeper into the building.

If he's being honest, he has no one to blame for this but himself. If he hadn't left the browser tab open and had remembered to clear his search history every once in a while the way Eskel is always telling him to, none of this would have happened. Lambert would never have discovered the many, many (far too many) times Geralt had watched "Ben Dover" videos, would not have found out about the "Fuck a Fan" event, and sure as hell would not have had the chance to sign up in Geralt's name.

Geralt still hasn't put all thoughts of killing his brother to rest.

"Ben is very excited to meet you, you know," Triss is saying to him, walking ahead but looking back at him. He's kind of surprised that she hasn't tripped yet. "He's done a few of these events and I've never seen him like this."

Geralt's stomach does an odd flip. "Hm."

They walk past a couple of posters on their way to the office or meeting room or wherever it is they're going. Geralt knows most of them. All bear the tagline, "The sweetest bottom on both sides of the Pontar", and from what he has seen of Jaskier, the description rings true.

"Can you tell me how these things work? I assume it's not like a regular shoot."

"Oh, Yennefer will explain everything, she's the director." Triss stops in front of a nondescript door and smiles encouragingly up at him. "Here we are. Good luck!" And with that, she opens the door for him and steps aside.

Briefly, Geralt considers turning on his heel and leaving.

Then he actually looks into the room, and there sits Jaskier, smiling and meeting Geralt's eyes with what can only be called excitement, and Geralt's feet move entirely without his permission, taking him into the room. The door closes behind him.

Next to Jaskier is a woman with jet black hair and a glare that could kill a lesser man. Geralt just cocks an eyebrow and says, "I'm here for the interview."

Jaskier nearly oozes out of his chair. " _Shit_ , Yenna, not only does he look like sex on legs, of course he has to sound like it as well." 

Yenna - Yennefer, he gathers - doesn't look nearly as impressed with his voice, or with anything, really. "Mr Bellegarde, I presume?"

"Just Geralt is fine."

Jaskier bites his lower lip and murmurs, "Fine is fucking right." Geralt has to bite back a smile as he sits down across from them.

"I'll cut right to the chase, Geralt. We are very interested in working with you on this, but I must ask: did you actually send this application in yourself?"

"My brother did," he says flatly. "Thought it would be funny."

"But you _are_ willing to do this." Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow rises. She's obviously sceptical.

Geralt looks over at Jaskier for a second. The guy looks about ready to vibrate out of his chair, chin propped up on one hand as he stares at Geralt with those big blue eyes of his. "Yes," Geralt says, directing his gaze back to Yennefer, "I am."

The corner of her mouth twitches, a minuscule movement easy to miss. "Wonderful," she drawls, then studies him for a moment. "These fan bang films are usually unscripted, as you surely know, but now that I have you in front of me I'm reconsidering. How do you feel about doing an actual scene?"

"I'm not much of an actor, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I can work with the stoic, taciturn persona. I'm thinking medieval-ish. You have the face for it."

Jaskier sits up straight at that, grinning widely. "Oh, I _love_ that idea! I do look rather dashing in a doublet, if I say so myself."

Yennefer rolls her eyes. "Keep your ren faire nerdery to yourself." Jaskier pouts, and Geralt thinks, _Uh oh._

They go through some administrative bullshit, he hands over the STI test results they asked for, and the whole time Jaskier keeps looking at him like he wants to eat him alive.

Yennefer looks up from her tablet after a while. "Your email said you have a short refractory period. How short are we talking here?"

Yup, he's _definitely_ going to kill Lambert.

"About fifteen minutes," he grits out, and Jaskier's eyes widen in delight.

"Goodness," he says breathlessly, eyes flicking to Yennefer for a second, who looks impressed. "That's unusual for a man your age."

Geralt narrows his eyes. "Are you calling me old?"

Jaskier fucking _giggles_. "No, no, not at all. I meant no offense." He smiles softly, and Geralt's breath catches in his throat. "You are older than me, and getting it up that quickly again is rare even with guys who are younger."

Geralt squints at him a moment longer, then says, "That's true, I suppose."

There's some more small talk and hashing out of details after this, and then Yennefer says, "I'll go get the contract, then you can sign immediately. Get all of that out of the way." And then she's gone, and Geralt is alone with Jaskier.

Who, again, looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin.

"You look like you want to ask me something," Geralt says, leaning back in his chair. Jaskier's eyes flicker down to where Geralt's shirt pulls tightly across his chest.

"I do," he answers, "but it would be horribly unprofessional of me." He bites his lip and bats his fucking lashes at Geralt, and he sighs.

"I'll keep your secret." This is a mistake and Geralt knows it is, but fuck, he's not the one who has anything to lose here.

Again, Jaskier bites his lip. He shifts in his chair, then says, "I want to ask you out. Like, on a date."

Geralt's heart thumps heavily in his chest. "That really is unprofessional."

Jaskier's face crumples, and he looks away. "I know, I'm sorry, forget I said that-"

"Jaskier," he interrupts, and the other's eyes snap back to his face. "Triss let your name slip," he explains, then adds, "And I'm not saying no."

The other's face splits into a grin so blinding, it makes Geralt's cheeks ache, and he finds himself smiling back.

This is a bad idea.


	2. Look So Pretty Underneath the Streetlights

They're in the backseat of his car, Jaskier in his lap with his tongue down Geralt's throat, and Geralt has no idea how they got here.

Well, not quite true. They met for dinner, at a nice restaurant, and after a really very pleasant evening they walked back to Geralt's car and Jaskier said, "I'm sorry, I know I come on too strong, but I really need you to fuck me, like, yesterday."

Now Jaskier's hands are in his hair, his cock a hard line against Geralt's stomach, and Geralt's trousers are far too tight. "Jaskier," he groans into the other's mouth, hands curled possessively around his arse, "if you want me to fuck you we'll have to lose some clothes."

Jaskier pulls back with a pout. "Ugh, logistics." Then he shimmies out of his jeans and button-down, and Geralt's mouth goes dry. He has seen Jaskier naked dozens of times, but never in the flesh. Never within reach. Jaskier digs around in his jacket pocket and when he looks up, he catches Geralt staring. He smiles wickedly. "Like what you see?"

Instead of answering, Geralt unbuttons his own trousers, drags the zipper down and pushes the garment down his legs. Then he sits back, arms resting on the back of the seat.

Jaskier's eyes widen, and he licks his lips. "Melitele's left tit, you're  _ huge _ ."

Geralt shrugs one shoulder and smiles lopsidedly. "So people keep telling me."

"I mean I saw the pictures but damn, I did not expect this."

Geralt grimaces at the reminder. Fucking Lambert and his snooping. Of course he'd found the three dick pics Geralt had taken in a moment of blinding boredom and sent them in along with his application. Fratricide still isn't off the table.

"Come here," he murmurs, and Jaskier scrambles back into his lap, his mouth crashing against Geralt's heatedly.

Fucking in a car is always tricky, and they're both tall and long-limbed which makes it all the more difficult, but they manage. Geralt fingers Jaskier until he takes three fingers with ease, and he teases his pinkie against his rim, but Jaskier shakes his head.

"Wanna feel you," he gasps, and Geralt gropes blindly for the condom and lube Jaskier had pulled from a jacket pocket.

The sound that comes out of Jaskier's mouth when Geralt breaches him is going to haunt his dreams for years, he thinks, and his fingers dig into the other's thighs. It takes a small eternity until Jaskier is fully seated on his cock, one hand pressed against his stomach as he trembles.

"Fuck, that's-" His eyes flutter. "Gods, I can feel you  _ everywhere _ ." Jaskier winds his arms around Geralt's neck, pushing himself fully against him with a sigh. "I'm gonna come so hard, I just know it."

Geralt groans and takes a hold of his hips. "Gotta fuck you first," he growls, and Jaskier shivers. Then Geralt lifts him, slowly, before bringing him back down again. Jaskier moans, his nails biting into the back of Geralt's neck.

"Fuck, that's so hot, I bet you could just hold me up against a wall and fucking  _ wreck me _ ."

"I'll put it on the to-do list."

Jaskier laughs, then chokes on his laugh when Geralt lifts him again before slamming him down with force. " _ Geralt- _ "

They find a rhythm then, Jaskier bouncing in his lap with intent, their mouths sloppy against each other, and Geralt can feel himself hurtling toward the edge. "I'm not gonna last," he groans, and Jaskier mewls and leans backwards against the front seats. After a moment of angling his hips, he shakes violently.

"There, fuck me there," he gasps, and Geralt obeys. He takes hold of the other's hips and fucks up into him, apparently nailing his prostate with every thrust, and soon Jaskier is crying out desperately. "Yes,  _ yes _ , fuck, Geralt, I'm gonna come, gonna-"

His back arches and Geralt just barely has the presence of mind to cup a hand over Jaskier's cock to catch his come, and then Jaskier shakes apart around him. His fingers claw at the headrests of the front seats and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and Geralt is transfixed. He fucks Jaskier through his orgasm, and then the other paws at his chest with a loopy smile.

"Fuck, I can't feel my toes," he mumbles, and Geralt winds an arm around his waist and pulls him close, rutting up into him mercilessly until he comes with a ragged shout that he muffles against the column of Jaskier's throat.

He drops Jaskier off at his apartment, and the young man presses a sweet kiss to his lips that has gentle warmth spreading through Geralt's limbs.

"I had a really good time tonight," Jaskier murmurs, his thumb stroking softly along Geralt's jaw, through his beard. "And I don't only mean the truly mind-blowing sex."

Geralt huffs a laugh and leans in to steal another kiss. "So did I."

"I hope we can do it again some time?" Jaskier's eyes are very blue in the glow of the streetlight, and Geralt kisses him once more.


	3. Hidden Depths

The shoot is scheduled for the following week, and slowly but surely nerves creep up on Geralt. He's not body shy, but fucking in front of cameras is going to take some adjusting.

Yennefer sent him the address of the location, a farm outside the city, and there's already the anticipatory hum of activity when he arrives. He finds the make-up trailer beside a barn and knocks before he walks inside to find Jaskier dressed in a billowy white shirt, brushing a glittery powder onto his cheekbones, with Yennefer typing away on her phone beside them.

"Geralt!" Jaskier grins at him through the mirror, and it takes quite a bit of restraint to not go over to him and kiss him. They agreed to keep things on the down low for now, especially in front of Yennefer.

"Hey."

Yennefer gives him a look. "You're late."

"I am, in fact, early," he deadpans, and Jaskier snickers. Yennefer narrows her eyes at them.

"Go change. We'll do something about that," she waves at his hair, pulled into a lazy bun, "after."

His costume, Geralt finds, consists of a black shirt with wide sleeves and a shit ton of buttons, and leather trousers that are so tight they look like they've been painted on. He looks at himself in the mirror, eyebrow cocked. Yennefer does have an eye for these things, he'll give her that. He has, however, no idea how he's supposed to fuck Jaskier in these without having them burst at the seams, because there's no way he'll get out of them again without help.

When he comes back into the make-up area, Jaskier is done with his look and has pulled on a light blue jacket that matches his trousers. His shirt, Geralt notices, consists of a lot of lace, and it hangs open at the front almost to his breastbone, his chest hair on glorious display. Not that that matters much as the fabric is nearly see-through anyway. His hair is artfully tousled, the slightest hint of a blush painted onto his cheeks, and Geralt stands there and stares for a moment.

Jaskier turns and looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Hot damn, Yenna," he says, "you really are wasted on this industry." His eyes don't stray from Geralt, and he licks his lips.

Yennefer looks up from her phone, and her eyebrow rises. "I know," she says airily as she looks Geralt up and down. "And I like being right. This whole vibe really suits you," she tells Geralt, and he nods in acknowledgement. "Now, sit down and let me pretty you up some."

"You can't improve on perfection," Jaskier murmurs with a wink, and Geralt drops into the make-up chair, rolling his eyes.

He ends up with his hair half up, half down, and he has to admit it suits the look. Yennefer had asked him if he'd be okay with shaving his beard, to which he agreed so he's now left with a nice five o'clock shadow. Now, she pulls out an eyeshadow palette.

"You're already the rugged type," she says, and Geralt lifts an eyebrow, "but I was thinking about adding some scars. Make-up, obviously."

Geralt shrugs. "This is your show, knock yourself out." The grin Yennefer gives him is downright feral, and she gets to work.

When she's done, there is a surprisingly realistic scar running from Geralt's forehead across his eye and down over his cheek, and he has to admit it looks… good. Before he can really think about it, he says, "Should do some on the rest of me. Seasoned monster hunter only having one scar on his face isn't very believable."

Again, Yennefer grins. "Damn, I like you."

Geralt pulls off his shirt again, catching Jaskier's eye through the mirror. The younger man sits on the low sofa pushed against the wall, absently strumming an actual lute, and he grins back at him.

Yennefer adds a handful of scars all over his chest, back and arms, then pulls out a bottle of fake blood and applies some to his face. She hums contentedly when she's done. "If you fuck anywhere near as well as you look, this is going to be a masterpiece."

Behind her, Jaskier ducks his head with a grin, and Geralt pulls his shirt back on so he can hide his own smile.

The story is simple: he's a monster hunter of undefined origin, Jaskier a bard - because it turns out the other actually knows how to play the lute,  _ what the fuck _ \- who is eager to show his gratitude for Geralt having saved the town from some unnamed foe. It's simple, standard porn fare, and Geralt is confident he can act his way through the flimsy dialogue they agreed on. He'll probably just say, "Hmm," a lot and leave the talking to Jaskier.

The set is the inside of the barn. There are horses and bales of hay, and if he's honest, fucking in front of the horses is probably going to be more awkward than in front of the crew, which is small anyway.

Yennefer leads him over to one of the horses while Jaskier settles down on a hay bale, plucking at his lute. "This is Roach," Yennefer tells him. The horse has been saddled and she sniffs curiously at his outstretched hand. "I'd like you to lead her inside, like you just arrived back from your hunt."

Geralt cocks an eyebrow. "You're really going in for the realism here, are you?"

"Go big or go home, my friend." She grins, and Geralt mirrors the expression.

"I can do you one better. Give me ten minutes and I can ride her around the farm a couple of times. Work up a sweat."

Yennefer's eyes nearly bug out of her head. "You know how to ride a horse." He nods, and Yennefer makes an odd noise. "Fuck, please let this be good, because if it is I am forcing you to sign on permanently. This could become  _ a whole series _ , Geralt!" Her voice trembles slightly, and he pats her shoulder.

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. For all you know I'm shit at fucking."

Jaskier sidles up behind Yennefer, throwing an arm around her waist. "Hm, I have faith in you," he says, mischief in his eyes. "What's this talk about horses?"

In answer Geralt unlatches the door to Roach"s stall and leads her outside, Yennefer and Jaskier following him. Roach snuffles at his sleeve as he checks her tack and adjusts the stirrups, and he smiles, patting her neck before he climbs into her saddle. When he looks down, Jaskier's eyes are so dark he feels he could just fall into them.

He winks at the younger man, then turns Roach around and urges her into a trot.

It has been a while since he last sat a horse. Vesemir had taught all of his boys, but with life, he hasn't found the time for this in forever. It all comes back to him though as he leads Roach around the yard a couple of times, lets her warm up some. There is a long strip of road leading out to a field, and when she's tugging at the reins, he guides her towards it, clicks his tongue and presses his heels into her sides. Roach is off like a shot, and he can't contain his grin as the wind whips at his hair.

Roach is well-trained, reacting to every one of his signals beautifully. He feels almost sad at the prospect of only getting to sit her saddle this once.

It's a warm day, and it doesn't take long until they're both breathing hard. Geralt can feel sweat running down the side of his face, and when he wipes at his cheek absently, it comes away red. Right, the fake blood. He grimaces as he gives Roach the reins on their way back to the barn, and when they stop in front of the doors, Yennefer's eyes are blazing.

"Where have you  _ been  _ all my life? I couldn't make you up if I tried." She clasps her hands in front of her chest and looks towards the sky. "Please,  _ please _ let this work out!" Then she pokes Jaskier in the bicep before she disappears into the barn. "Two minutes."

Jaskier stands by the door, staring at Geralt as he dismounts. His hands are curled into fists by his sides. "I don't even care that you're going to mess up this real silk doublet, I really want to kiss you right now."

Geralt pulls Roach's reins over her head and leads her over to Jaskier, smirking at him. "Hold onto that." He leans closer, until his breath moves the fine hairs by Jaskier's ear. "I'm going to  _ destroy _ you."

Jaskier's eyes flutter, and he moans softly. "Fuck, I hate you."

"Do you?" Geralt straightens again, still smirking. "Time's up," he says softly. "Run along now, little bard."

The other flushes bright red and points a threatening finger at him. “You!” Then he turns and stalks into the barn. Geralt turns back to Roach, hiding his grin in her mane.


	4. The White Wolf and His Bard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole story is roughly 9k words. This chapter is 4k, and it's all porn. Enjoy.
> 
> Please assume that everything that happens here was negotiated in advance.

It has been a long day. Despite his many years of experience, hunting monsters never gets less taxing. He supposes he got lucky this time - no injuries worth mentioning, Roach is fine, and the alderman put up almost no fuss at all in regards to payment and offered to let him stay the night in the barn, so he really can’t complain too much.

His decent mood sours, however, when he enters the barn and is met by the persistent strumming of a lute. The lute belongs to a bard, sitting on a hay bale as he plays a soft melody, and he looks up when the Wolf enters. His face breaks into a grin for some reason.

“Ah, our saviour has arrived! I hear we have you to thank for ridding us of this monster!”

The Wolf grunts as he leads Roach into the free stall, then goes back to trying to ignore the bard. Unfortunately, the man is persistent.

“I hope our good alderman has compensated you appropriately! He can be a bit of a skinflint, if you ask me.”

“Didn’t ask you,” the Wolf grumbles. He’s tired, sweaty and there’s blood all over him, and he really just wants to be left in peace.

The man leans on the door of the stall, unperturbed. “Ah, quite right.” He watches the Wolf untack Roach, then steps out of the way as he puts away the saddle and bridle. “The name’s Dandelion, by the way. And you’re the White Wolf.”

He grunts again. “Do I look like I give a shit what your name is?”

Dandelion huffs. “You’re very rude, did anybody ever tell you that?”

“Most people.”

That startles a laugh out of the troubadour. He follows the Wolf as he walks over to the bales of hay and pulls open his satchel. “Does this routine usually work? In scaring people away, I mean.”

The Wolf sighs and puts down his satchel before he turns to look at the man. He’s still smiling, oddly enough. He’s also… really pretty. Big, very expressive blue eyes, pouty lips, a mop of brown hair. And he looks strangely eager. “Let’s cut to the chase: what do you want?”

Dandelion’s smile turns sly, and he gently sets his lute aside before he turns back to the Wolf. His fingers dance over the line of buttons on the Wolf’s shirt. “I’d like to show my gratitude,” he says silkily, and the Wolf reconsiders.

He hasn’t lain with anybody in quite a while. Money has been tight, and courtesans in this part of the world are picky about who they tumble with. If this man is offering what the Wolf thinks he is, then this would be a perfect opportunity. “The alderman paid me already,” he says anyway, and Dandelion wrinkles his nose.

“Oh please, I know him well enough to suspect he didn’t pay you nearly what you were really owed. He’s… a close friend, but he would also sell his own mother if it suited him.”

The Wolf sneers. “Close friend, huh? So you’re a harlot.”

Dandelion grins at that. “No, no, not a harlot.” He steps closer, into the Wolf’s space. “A tart. There’s a difference.”

The Wolf leans down, breathes him in. “Careful. Might just eat you, then.”

“Oh, _please_ do, I insist.”

Their kiss is harsh, the Wolf’s hand fisting into the bard’s hair as the other grabs hold of his shirt, and Dandelion makes the most delicious noise when he nips at his lower lip. The Wolf backs him up against the barn wall and shoves a leg between his thighs. “Fuck, you’re hungry for it, aren’t you,” he growls against the other’s mouth, and the bard whimpers.

“ _Yes_. I saw you arrive,” he gasps as the Wolf reaches between them, tugging his shirt out of his breeches. “And I knew I had to have you, no matter what.”

The Wolf kisses him again, hard and relentless. Dandelion whines when teeth tug at his bottom lip. “Careful what you wish for, little bard,” he growls and shoves a hand down the bard’s breeches.

Dandelion keens, his head thumping back against the wall. “Fuck,” he hisses as the Wolf’s hand closes around his stiff cock. “Can I- Let me suck you, please, I want-”

The Wolf grabs his hair and tilts his head so he can look him in the eyes; Dandelion trembles. “Are you sure you can handle it?” He rolls his hips against the bard, and the man’s eyes widen. Then he nods enthusiastically.

“ _Please_.”

He releases the bard and steps back, and Dandelion immediately sinks to his knees, his hands reaching for the fastenings of his trousers. The hard line of the hunter’s cock is impossible to miss, and the troubadour licks his lips as he unties the black trousers. When he pulls them open, his eyes widen, and the Wolf leans back against a hay bale, smirking. “Get to it, then.”

Dandelion does as he’s bid. He licks and sucks, rolls the Wolf’s balls in his hand as he hollows his cheeks. He looks ridiculously pretty like that, kneeling between his legs, mouth full of cock, and the Wolf sinks a hand into his hair and tugs. The bard’s eyes flutter and he moans around the length in his mouth, and the Wolf tugs harder. For a long time, there are only the soft sounds of the horses and the filthy sounds of Dandelion’s lips sliding over his flesh, the soft moans and whimpers when the Wolf tugs him down further than he expected.

“You’re good at that,” the Wolf rumbles, and the bard hums happily around him. “Think you can take more?” In reply, Dandelion’s mouth goes slack, and the Wolf holds him in place by his hair. Then he pushes forward. There is some resistance as the head of his cock nudges at the back of Dandelion’s throat, and then it pops through, down the bard’s throat, and the Wolf groans, pleased. “ _Fuck_ ,” he bites out as he pulls back; Dandelion gasps, his eyes watering. The hunter cocks an eyebrow in a silent question, and when the bard nods, he takes hold of his head with both hands. “Deep breath, little bard,” he murmurs, and Dandelion does just that.

He doesn’t let go, not fully. He knows he can’t, he's big and the bard is just human after all, but he fucks his throat roughly, staring down at the tears leaking from the man’s eyes, listens to the desperate gasps, the filthy squelching sound of his cock thrusting in and out of Dandelion’s throat. It’s perfect, and he imagines taking the bard with him, to have this at his disposal whenever he needs it. It’s horribly tempting.

When he lets the man come up for air, he splutters and coughs, his eyes streaming, and yet he strains against the hold the hunter has on his hair. “Please,” he gasps, mouth wide open and his tongue extended, and the Wolf shudders.

“Later,” he growls, and the bard moans. “Up.”

Dandelion obeys, rising to his feet despite his wobbling knees. His face is wet with spit and tears, his eyes glassy with lust, and the Wolf pulls him close and kisses him, hard, hungry. The bard moans into his mouth, pushes closer, and the Wolf echoes the sound as he feels the stiff cock pressing against his stomach. “I have oil in my lute case,” Dandelion gasps, and the Wolf grabs him by the back of his neck and turns them around. He bends the troubadour over the stack of hay bales, pressing him down to make sure he stays.

The Wolf locates the bottle of linseed oil easily, and when he returns, Dandelion has pushed off his doublet. The hunter can see the muscles of his back moving through the sheer fabric of his chemise. He reaches out a hand, places it between the bard's shoulder blades; Dandelion stills, and the Wolf leans over him, pressing his hard cock against his backside. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to walk out of here."

The troubadour looks back at him over his shoulder. His cheeks are still flushed and his eyes wet, and he's grinning ferally. "Is that a promise, oh great White Wolf?"

The hunter growls, deep in his throat. If the pretty human wants to play this game, they will play.

He steps back and tugs his shirt up and over his head, and the bard sucks in a breath. The hunter knows what he looks like, knows that his muscles and scars are something that scares off humans more often than not.

The bard looks at him as though he wants to eat him alive.

The Wolf tugs down the other's trousers roughly, and the bard winces when the fabric digs into his skin, but he doesn't complain or attempt to stop the Wolf. Instead he lets the other pull them down and off, together with his boots, and then he spreads his legs and arches his back.

The hunter doesn't know much about art, or poetry. He lacks the pretty words to describe beauty, but he finds he doesn't need them. Dandelion just _is_ beautiful, both physically and in his willingness, nay, his eagerness to submit to him. It makes the darker, more beastly part of himself howl in triumph, makes it want to curl around the man presenting himself to the Wolf so easily and never let him go again.

He opens the bard up slowly, savouring it. One finger makes him sigh and melt against the hay, the second has him moaning. By the third, he's trembling, panting softly, and the fourth has him crying out, fingers scrabbling at his perch.

"Fuck, I'm ready, _I'm ready_ , get in me, _please_ ," he pants as he looks back at the hunter, his blue eyes wide and desperate.

The Wolf slicks himself up, then presses slowly against the bard's hole. Dandelion's eyes widen even more, and the Wolf smirks down at him. "Having second thoughts?"

In answer, the bard reaches behind himself and pulls his cheeks apart, spreading himself even more. His heart is racing when he says, "Do your worst, Wolf."

The hunter grins, baring all his teeth, and then he pushes _in_. Beneath him, the bard chokes on air as he's stuffed full, his muscles locked tight even as he tries to relax, to make the stretch easier. Judging by the way his hands shake where he's holding himself open, it's not working all that well, and the Wolf presses a hand between his shoulder blades again. "You're doing fine, Dandelion," he murmurs, "you can take it," and the bard makes a high, desperate noise.

By the time the Wolf's hips are flush with the bard's pert arse, Dandelion is holding onto the hay bale for dear life, shaking and whimpering. The hunter curls around him, hands at his waist, and nuzzles his cheek; the bard whines.

"That's all of it," the Wolf says softly, "you took all of me, took it so well." He pulls back slightly, then pushes in again, and the bard gurgles something that might have been his name. Then, the hunter starts to move, slow, languid rolls of his hips against Dandelion that have the bard whining and gasping. He straightens up again, watches his cock disappear inside the tight clutch of the other's arse over and over, and it's bliss. "So sweet for me," he murmurs, and Dandelion makes a high, keening noise.

"Gods, you're gonna rip me in half," he pants, voice shaking, and the Wolf angles his hips, searching for that bundle of nerves that will make the bard sing. He finds it easily, and Dandelion arches off of his perch. " _Fuck!_ "

"Hmm, you're truly a gifted poet." Amusement laces his voice even as he keeps up his steady rhythm. The bard moans, head thrown back.

"You try being eloquent with that monster up your arse," he gasps, and the Wolf leans forward again, winds an arm around the bard's chest and pulls him up to standing. The motion pushes the man down that much further on his cock, and Dandelion moans.

"You asked for it," he reminds him as he grinds into him, holding him in place. The bard whimpers. “You saw me and _had_ to have me, remember?” He pulls back until Dandelion’s rim hugs the crown of his cock, holds himself there. “Take it, then.”

He shoves back inside, all at once, and the troubadour _screams_.

The Wolf starts fucking him properly then, holding him tightly against his chest as he pushes into him again and again, and Dandelion is soon reduced to a sobbing, writhing mess in his arms. He is so very tight around the hunter’s cock, a perfect fit really, and the Wolf cups his jaw and turns his face up so he can press biting kisses against his throat and cheek.

“I should take you with me,” he tells the whimpering bard, “just toss you over the back of my horse when I leave so I can have this tight hole whenever I want it.” Dandelion moans, tightens even more around him, and the Wolf presses his face into the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was.” The bard reaches up from where he’s still holding himself up against the hay, winds his slim fingers around the Wolf’s wrist. “Maybe I was made to sit on your cock, be good and sweet for you when no one else will treat you right.” He’s gasping with every one of the Wolf’s increasingly vicious thrusts, and the hunter growls against his neck.

“You’d want that?”

Dandelion’s hand moves again, up into the Wolf’s hair. He almost purrs at the touch. “ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, clenches around the hunter’s cock, and the Wolf pushes him forward onto the hay again.

“You’re insane,” he groans as he grabs the smaller man by the hips and lays into him, hips pumping furiously, and Dandelion screams and begs and whimpers. His cock hangs hard and wet between his thighs, pressed against the hay in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable, but when the Wolf takes him by the neck and presses his face harder against his arm where he’s cushioning it, he goes rigid and comes with a scream that must surely shake some spiders loose in the hayloft.

The Wolf slows down minutely, and Dandelion shakes and shakes under him, his hole like a vice around him. “Fuck, fuck, please, I can’t-”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the Wolf says as he curls around the troubadour’s back again. “I’m going to fuck your slutty little hole full of my seed, and then I’ll keep fucking you, and when I’m ready, I will come on your pretty face.” The bard sobs and shivers, and the Wolf angles his hips, presses down on Dandelion’s back so he has to raise his arse. “And maybe then I’ll be done with you,” he adds.

The bard shudders, whimpers, his hole clenching around him. Then he says, “Promises, promises.”

For a moment, the Wolf is stunned. The bard has a mouth on him, that much has been clear from the start, and apparently a rather poorly developed sense of self-preservation, but this… The Wolf can’t wrap his head around it. “What did you say.”

Dandelion looks back at him over his shoulder. His eyes sparkle, and he licks his lips. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. The Wolf’s cock twitches where it’s buried inside the bard.

Then he _snarls_ and grabs the man by the neck, pulls out of him and hauls him off the stack of hay. Dandelion falls to his knees with a grunt, that sparkle still in his eyes even as the Wolf stands over him, fist wrapped around his cock. “You’re gonna regret that,” he growls, and Dandelion’s smile widens. He whips his chemise over his head, and the hunter is momentarily caught off guard by how hairy the man is. He wants to grab fistfuls of the thick pelt covering his chest, and his mouth goes dry when Dandelion spreads his legs, balancing on the balls of his feet, and brings his hands up to toy with his nipples.

Fuck.

He grabs the bard by the hair and forces him down onto all fours. Dandelion _moans_ and arches his back, presenting his arse like he’s dying for it, and the hunter sinks into him in one thrust. The bard whimpers, scrabbling at the ground as the Wolf sets a rough, punishing pace, fingers digging into his hips. “If you’re gonna act the bitch, I’ll treat you like one,” he groans, and Dandelion whines, pushes back against his thrusts.

“Are you gonna breed me,” he breathes, “fuck a pup into me,” and it’s like lightning races down the Wolf’s spine.

Dandelion’s words echo in his mind, over and over again, and before he really knows he’s doing it, he’s bowing over the man, hips working in the same furious rhythm as he bends his head to the other’s neck.

“I’m never letting you off my cock again,” he growls, and then he sinks his teeth into the meat of the bard’s shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to bruise, and Dandelion bucks and screams. His hole tightens deliciously around the Wolf’s cock, and the hunter holds on, the force of his thrusts increasing until Dandelion’s arms buckle beneath him, sending them crashing to the floor. The Wolf keeps rutting into him, hard and relentless as the troubadour cries and whimpers beneath him, until he can’t hold back any longer. He presses his forehead between Dandelion’s shoulder blades and breathes him in, fucking into him as hard as he can for three blissful thrusts that have the bard screaming bloody murder, and then he’s coming, cock buried deep inside the bard.

He’s on the ground in a barn somewhere in the middle of nowhere, with a virtual stranger, and this is quite possibly the best sex he has ever had.

Dandelion whimpers beneath him, shifting, and the hunter pushes himself up onto his elbows so as not to crush the smaller man. The bard is red-faced, cheeks once again streaked with tears, and his eyes are closed.

He’s smiling, and something soft and sweet blooms in the Wolf’s chest.

“That,” murmurs Dandelion dreamily, “was absolutely life-changing.”

The Wolf rolls his hips. “Was?” Dandelion forces his eyes open, blinking up at him. The hunter smiles. “I believe I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

He’s not sure if the sound coming out of the bard’s throat is one of dread or anticipation. He thinks it’s a bit of both.

When he pulls out of the bard, he can’t help but just look for a moment. Dandelion’s hole is dripping, slick with oil and the Wolf’s seed, and he looks so well-fucked the hunter’s mouth waters. Dandelion reaches behind himself and pulls on his cheek again, spreading himself, and the hunter hisses. “You’re a menace,” he breathes as he brushes his thumb over the bard’s used opening.

“I’m perfectly innocent,” Dandelion insists. There’s hay in his hair, and bruises are blooming on his shoulder and hips. He looks utterly debauched. “You’re the one who fucked my poor little arse wide open.”

“You’re the one who begged for it.”

They look at each other, neither giving an inch. Then Dandelion rolls over onto his back and pokes the hunter’s chest. The glint in his eyes is downright dangerous. “If I remember correctly, you were going to keep fucking me.”

 _An absolute menace_ , he thinks, and then he sits up and pulls the bard into his lap. Dandelion is sloppy and open and the hunter pushes three fingers into him easily, and soon the bard is whimpering again. By the time the Wolf pulls him down onto his cock, he’s nearly insensible, overwhelmed with pleasure, and the Wolf takes him by the waist and moves him. Dandelion leans in and winds his arms around his neck and kisses him messily. When he pulls back, his mouth is slack and his eyes closed, and he looks absolutely blissed out of his mind.

“Fuck, you feel so good in me,” he slurs, head tipped back, and the Wolf mouths at the column of his throat. The bard’s breath hitches.

Now, the pace is slower, the initial desperation sated, but it’s no less intense. Dandelion moans so prettily for him, and again he thinks what it would be like to have the bard by his side on the road, to have this available at all times. It would be perfect.

Between them, Dandelion has gotten hard again, and he whines with every thrust, his oversensitive cock rubbed unerringly between their stomachs. The Wolf sucks a bruise into his throat. “Are you going to come on my cock again, sweet thing?”

“Fuck, yes, I’ll lose my mind but yes, please, I need it,” he babbles as the Wolf moves him. Dandelion keens and arches in his grip, and the hunter winds his arm around his waist.

“Take what you need,” he murmurs against the bard’s cheek, and again he keens before he lifts himself on shaking legs. It’s slow and almost gentle now, and the Wolf sits back and lets the troubadour do as he pleases. His forehead is creased in concentration, his lower lip between his teeth, and the Wolf breathes a quiet, “Beautiful,” into the space between them.

Dandelion fucks himself on his cock for long minutes, the barn echoing with his cries and moans, and when the Wolf can tell he’s close, he gently tips the man back, until he lies on the ground again. The Wolf kneels between his thighs, and the bard looks up at him with hooded eyes full of an odd emotion. If pressed, he would call it longing, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“Come with me,” he finds himself saying, and Dandelion smiles softly.

“I might,” he says. His heel presses against the hunter’s arse. “Please.”

The Wolf complies, pushes back into him. Dandelion hooks his legs over his shoulders, lets the hunter split him open, and when he comes, it’s with a wordless cry, his face contorted in a mixture of overwhelming pleasure and overworked nerve endings uncertain if what they’re registering isn’t pain after all.

It doesn’t take long after that. The Wolf kisses his slack mouth, gentle and demanding at once, and Dandelion moans into it. The hunter takes him roughly again, his fingers leaving more bruises on his skin. The bard just lets it happen, lets himself be used like that, and the Wolf bares his teeth as he chases his release.

“You said-” Dandelion’s breath hiccups at a particularly hard thrust, and his eyes flutter. “You said you’d come on my face.”

The Wolf groans, his grip on the bard’s hips tightening. “Do you want that?”

“ _Yes_.” Dandelion licks his lips again. “Wanna taste you.”

It’s done, then. The Wolf pulls out and straddles the troubadour’s spread thighs with a grunt, his cock dripping oil and the seed he had fucked into the man earlier, and he strips himself fast and mercilessly, staring down into the blue, blue eyes of this odd man. Dandelion stares right back, and then he opens his mouth wide, his pink tongue pushing out, and it’s over. The Wolf comes with a drawn out moan, his eyes falling shut as he comes all over Dandelion’s face, some of it splattering across his tongue. The bard moans and keeps his mouth open, taking everything the Wolf gives him, just like he has been all this time.

When he swallows, the Wolf’s decision has been made.

They sleep in the hay loft, the Wolf curled around Dandelion, his nose buried in brown hair, and the next morning, the bard disappears for half an hour before he returns with freshly baked bread, an apple for Roach, and a satchel. “So are you very set on this whole throwing me over the back of your horse thing?”

They leave just after sunrise, Dandelion walking beside Roach. He plays his lute as he walks, a soft, quiet melody, and the Wolf closes his eyes and lets the music and the man’s scent wash over him. Dandelion hums happily after a while. “This is the start of a beautiful story, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to me to take hardcore porn and turn it soft in the end.


	5. Dad, That's Gross!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is 16ish in this.

“The White Wolf and his Bard” turns out to be a wild success. Yennefer hardly knows what to do with herself, and that’s how Geralt finds himself signing on as a regular performer with Abso-Lute Filth.

“I have so many ideas for this,” Yennefer says as he pushes the contract back across the table. There’s a slightly manic gleam in her eyes. “I was prepared to rip both of your heads off when I realised you must have fucked before the shoot,” and here Jaskier makes an affronted noise, “ _but_ I guess it all turned out well in the end.” She grins at Geralt. “I’m officially making him your problem.”

Now, six months later, Geralt is, for the first time in a long while, truly content with where he’s at in life. He still has his regular job, and for the most part his life hasn’t changed all that much, with one notable exception: Jaskier.

It has been almost frighteningly easy to let the young man into his life. He gets along well with Ciri, the amount of shit his brothers have given him has been surprisingly restrained, and working with him continues to be easy and fun. A part of Geralt waits for the other shoe to drop because surely things can’t just work out like that.

“I was thinking,” Jaskier says now from his spot on Geralt’s sofa, “about expanding on the whole breeding thing.” Geralt cocks an eyebrow at him, and Jaskier flutters a hand in his direction. “Don’t give me that look. I know for a fact that you like it.” He grins, then strokes a hand over his flat belly. “Just imagine it,” he murmurs, and heat shoots through Geralt. He drops down on the sofa next to the other man, winding a hand around his ankle.

“You are a terrible influence.”

Jaskier laughs and flexes his toes, pokes Geralt’s thigh with them. “Yup, and proud of it.” Geralt huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “In all seriousness though, I’ve been thinking. There’s this whole sex pollen trope that would work beautifully with these characters. Like, you get a face full of some weird ass plant and have to fuck it out of your system or you die. Combine that with the Wolf’s animalistic nature and bam, let’s try and get Dandelion knocked up.”

Geralt lets that explanation hang in the air between them for a moment before he asks, “Has anybody ever told you that you are a deeply weird person?”

Jaskier grins. “At least once a week. If you don’t like it, that’s fine, I’m not set on it.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like it.” He moves his hand up Jaskier’s calf; the other shivers. “But is Dandelion gonna be into it? Or does the Wolf have to keep him in place?”

“Hm, you could tie me down,” Jaskier breathes, and Geralt leans over and sinks into the vee of Jaskier’s thighs. “Just make me take it,” he says softly as Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his jaw, “for however long until it catches.”

Geralt groans and rests his forehead against Jaskier’s chest. “You’re the worst. Ciri will be home soon and here we are.” He guides Jaskier’s hand to his cock, straining against his trousers, and the other chuckles.

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

Ciri does come home only ten minutes later. She finds them still on the sofa, kissing lazily, and she gags loudly. “Ugh, dad! Gross!”

Geralt flips her off without looking, and Jaskier tips back his head and chuckles. “Hey, Ciri, how was practice?”

She launches into a lengthy story about a particularly challenging flip she is working on, but after a while, she falls silent before visibly gathering her courage. “Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Ela said something today, and I-” She bites her lip, and Geralt and Jaskier exchange a look.

“What did she say, sweetheart?” Geralt sits up properly, frowning. Jaskier, too, swings his legs off the couch.

Ciri looks between them for a long moment, then she blurts, “She said she saw you two. In a porn video.”

Geralt stares at her; beside him, Jaskier makes an odd choking noise. Ciri turns four different shades of red in rapid succession. “I…”

The girl’s eyes widen, and she slaps a hand over them. “Oh _gods_ , it’s true. My dad is a porn star.”

Bizarrely, Jaskier laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far, darling. One film does not a star make.” He winks at Geralt, and Geralt kind of wants to punch him.

“Are you… uncomfortable with that, Ciri?”

She shrugs, tugs at the hem of her sweater. “I don’t know? I mean there’s nothing wrong with porn, and since the two of you are together, I assume it’s something you,” and here her face twists comically, “enjoy doing, so… You do you, I guess.”

Jaskier sighs beside him. “I don’t know who I want to hug more right now, you, Ciri, for being such a cool person, or you,” here he turns to Geralt with a soft look in his eyes, “for raising her like this.”

Ciri snickers. “Pass. He’s all yours, Jask.” She picks her backpack up again, shoulders it. “Anyway, good talk. I’ll be over at Dara’s, we need to finish that stupid essay. Byeee!” And with that she’s out the door again.

Geralt flops back against the sofa and runs a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“That went far better than I would have expected.” Jaskier leans against him, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “She’s a great kid.”

“Yeah.” He looks up at the ceiling. “She is.”

“Are you okay?”

He scrubs at his face again. “Yeah, just… Didn’t expect that.”

Jaskier hums and crawls into his lap. “Part of the job, I’m afraid. She would’ve found out sooner or later anyway. And I think you handled that very well.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of Geralt’s nose, and he sighs.

“I just don’t want her to feel awkward around me.”

“Geralt, she’s a teenager. She’ll feel awkward about the way you breathe, as is her gods-given right.” He nudges Geralt’s jaw with his nose. “Come on, let’s order some takeout and watch a dumb movie. I demand cuddles in bed.”

“Hm.” Geralt winds an arm around his waist and holds him close with a sigh. “Sounds like a plan.” Catching Jaskier’s mouth for a kiss, he chuckles. “And I believe you promised me some recompense for getting me all worked up earlier.”

Jaskier grins and rolls his hips against Geralt. “I believe I did.”

* * *

All plans of murdering Lambert and making his body disappear have been laid to rest, by the way, and when, another six months later, Jaskier accepts the ring Geralt presents him with with a happy squeal, he sends Lambert a fruit basket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, you can't expect me to write a porn star thing and NOT have it end in a wedding/engagement. If we're going in for cliches we might as well go all out.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09)!


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